


We've Got A Good Thing Here

by rippedoutgrace



Series: Your Sweet Touch [3]
Category: Pushing Daisies, Pushing Daisies/Supernatural, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:59:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1344973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rippedoutgrace/pseuds/rippedoutgrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A murder catches the Winchesters' attention and they run into several unexpected someones at the morgue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've Got A Good Thing Here

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a terrible student and wrote this pretty quickly during a class, so please excuse any mistakes! Sorry for the long wait (again). Hope you enjoy it!

“Yeah, but some of these murders are _weird_ , Dean. Maybe even our kind of weird,” Sam shrugs, and they stand back to let the police duck under the yellow tape.

 

“Maybe,” Dean hums noncommittally. For some reason he just doesn’t see it. It’s weird, for sure. After all, how many people actually get caught on a working windmill by their suspenders, only to fall off when the sail swings around the top?

 

Dean’s going to guess the number is way down in the single digits. But pinning the blame on something supernatural? He really isn’t sure.

 

The police are just as baffled and can’t offer Dean and Sam much of anything to go on, so they hang back and discuss their next move. “Morgue?”

 

“Later,” Dean agrees. The sooner they finish up here, the sooner they can maybe go back to The Pie Hole. They haven’t been by in a couple of days and Dean doesn’t want to admit how much he misses a certain shy and charming pie maker. His waistline is thanking him though.

 

They head back to the motel and take turns in the shower. Dean opts to go first because he might have seen a new episode of Dr. Sexy coming on in about eight minutes, which is just enough time to get in and out and get comfy on the bed.

 

He’s out in six minutes and he flips through the channels while he waits, stopping on a local channel to catch the weather report. A commercial for a private investigator plays right afterward and Dean doesn’t pay much attention except to note the name. Emerson Cod. Cod like the fish.

 

“Hey, Sam!” he yells over the sound of Sam’s shower. “Sam!”

 

“Dean, what now?” he snaps back, voice muffled by the spray of the shower.

 

“Does the name Emerson Cod sound familiar for some reason?” Sam doesn’t answer and Dean rolls his eyes. He knows Sam heard him—he’s just ignoring Dean now. Emerson Cod. Cod...

 

He sits up suddenly. “Olive mentioned him the other day. Sam? Sam!”

 

Sam comes huffing out of the bathroom, toweling at his hair. “Five minutes, Dean? You couldn’t wait five minutes?”

 

“Touchy,” Dean responds and settles back to the theme tune of Dr. Sexy, M.D. He’s right though. Olive did mention an Emerson Cod, and apparently Ned hangs out with him. He waits until the commercial break to give that some more thought. What is Ned doing with a private investigator?

 

Unfortunately, Sam drags him out of the motel before the episode is over and they play-bicker all the way to the morgue. The very bright and cheerful morgue.

 

“Well, that’s not something you see every day,” Dean muses, and Sam nods in agreement.

 

They flash badges and swagger past the few employees still working this time of night. No one gives them a second look until the older man behind the desk.

 

“Lemme guess. Here to see the new body,” he says, leveling them both with an unamused look. “Popular fella.”

 

Sure, whatever that means. Dean and Sam nod uncertainly and edge towards the swinging door, just waiting for the man to stop them. He doesn’t, so they back into the inner room and turn around.

 

To face Ned, Chuck, and Emerson Cod. Looking just like his advertisement. Except not smiling.

 

“What are you doing here?” Dean asks Ned at the same time Ned exclaims, “Dean! What... How? Hi?”

 

“Sam! Dean!” Chuck calls from behind sunglasses that would have made Jackie Kennedy jealous. “This is Emerson!” She loops a tiny arm through Emerson’s larger one and he tries unsuccessfully to shake her off.

 

“Alright, alright,” Emerson Cod grumbles. “You boys mind telling me what you’re doing here?”

 

Dean’s barely listening, smiling at Ned smiling at him and somehow they’ve edged towards each other until they’re nearly touching. “Hey there, Pie Maker,” he teases. He likes the fact that Ned blushes easier than he does and he’s not disappointed by the pink gracing Ned's cheeks now.

 

“It’s good to see you, Dean. You haven’t been by lately,” and damn it, but Ned’s smile starts to falter and no, no.

 

“I swear, we’ve just been busy, but – “

 

“Dean!” Sam hisses. “We’re in a morgue. You’re two feet from a dead body, remember?”

 

Oh, right.

 

Dean clears his throat and finally notices Chuck grinning madly at him, Emerson cocking a brow, and Sam glaring.

 

Right. They’re here on business. “So, uh, what _are_ you doing here, Ned?”

 

Chuck jumps in before Ned can open his mouth. “We’re all finished actually! See you boys, later!” She walks around Ned, giving him a strangely wide berth, and cheerfully waves at them as she goes back through the door. Emerson follows her a moment later and nudges Ned on his way out. “Hurry it up.”

 

Then they’re alone in the room full of dead bodies and Dean doesn’t mind at all.

 

“Are you... are you federal agents?” Ned finally asks and it wasn’t what Dean was expecting.

 

“What?” he stutters, and makes an _ah_ sound when Ned points to the fake badge still hanging from Sam’s hand. “Um, not exactly.” He ignores Sam’s spluttering beside him and just shrugs. There’s no good reason for Ned to be in here either.

 

Dean can’t explain why he feels warm and happy and he thinks Ned might be feeling it too, despite the odd location in which they’re experiencing all of this.

 

Finally, Sam sighs heavily and shoves at Dean’s side. “Go,” he says wearily. “I’ll look around. I’ll pick you up at The Pie Hole later.”

 

Well, he’s certainly not going to protest and he’s already half out the door when Ned pauses. “I can bring Dean back, if you want?” He’s asking Sam, but looking at Dean when he says it and Dean just grins.

 

“Sounds good,” he agrees and remembers to toss the Impala’s keys to Sam.

 

Ned waves awkwardly at the grumpy man behind the desk, and gets a glare in return. “He doesn’t like me very much,” he whispers to Dean.

 

“Impossible.”

 

Ned’s smile is sweet as pie.

 

They walk outside and Ned steers them to the left. “Oh, I forgot,” he stumbles when they get to the curb, staring at an oil stain on the ground where a car used to be. “Chuck has my keys.” He turns wide eyes to Dean.

 

Dean just laughs. “Guess we’re walkin’, huh?”

 

They haven’t gone five minutes down the street and their hands have brushed against each others at least ten times now. The next time it happens, Ned slips his fingers through Dean’s and he’s honestly surprised by it. He looks up into Ned’s face (God, the man is _tall_ ) and Ned blushes and starts to loosen his grip. “Sorry, I – I don’t usually, ever –“

 

“No,” Dean says firmly and wraps his hand flush against Ned’s. “It’s good.”

 

And it is good. Dean should be off-balance and flustered, he always is whenever he finds a man attractive. The funny thing is though, he isn’t. Ned’s sweet smiles and bashful nature are as comforting and comfortable as the pie maker’s pies themselves. And Dean is surprisingly okay with this.

 

He squeezes Ned’s hand and hopes it says enough, that he’s good. That he’s happy about this.

 

As if Ned reads his mind, he squeezes back and says, “I’m really happy you’re here, Dean.” He laughs a little. “Even if you’re not really a federal agent.”

 

He’s just about to ask Ned what he was doing in the morgue because they never did establish that, but they’ve reached The Pie Hole and Ned stops abruptly.

 

“What? What’s wrong?”

 

“Chuck still has my keys," he groans. 

 

Dean lets go of Ned’s hand to cup around his eyes as he peers through the blinds on the window. “There’s a light on in the back.” He taps loudly on the glass and they both pause, waiting.

 

Suddenly the door swings open and Olive pokes her head out. “Hi, boys! Dean, you’re back! Chuck has your keys, doesn’t she?”

 

Ned and Dean both nod mutely and Dean’s happy to know he’s not the only one that feels overwhelmed by the upbeat force of nature that is Olive. They both slip inside and Olive picks up her broom again. “Hey, Digby!” Ned bends down to greet the golden retriever lying on the ground. Dean doesn’t realize he expected Ned to pet the dog until he didn’t.

 

“Is Digby your dog?”

 

“Since I was a boy, yeah.” Ned looks fond and proud of the dog, but still hasn’t even touched him.

 

Dean eyes the dog speculatively. Lookin’ pretty good for his age, isn’t he? Digby’s tail thumps against the tile and Olive tickles him with the broom bristles, making his tail thump harder. “Well, I’m all done down here. Should I lock up?”

 

“No, thanks, Olive. I’ll take care of it,” Ned tells her and steps aside as Digby follows Olive.

 

“Coffee? Or pie? Or both?”

 

“Coffee, please,” Dean tells him and he takes a seat on a barstool, watching Ned poke nervously at the coffee maker. “Need some help?” he calls, trying not to laugh. Ned looks terrified of the little machine and Dean’s finding it hilarious.

 

The _drip-drip-drip_ starts and Ned sighs in relief. “Olive makes better coffee than I do,” he admits, and comes around the counter to slide onto a stool next to Dean’s. They swing to face each other and their knees knock together. Ned stares wonderingly at their knees tapping each other’s. “I’ve never been big on touching people, but... I really don’t mind it with you.”

 

Dean isn’t sure how to respond to that. He’s used to it, living with Sam in close quarters, bumping into each other more often than not, but Ned doesn’t seem to need an agreement. The coffee maker beeps and they’re startled out of the comfortable quiet between them. Ned hops up and grabs two mugs and saucers and Dean makes himself useful by leaning over the counter to get the sugar and cream. They don’t speak, preparing their coffee (Dean’s black, one sugar, and Ned’s cream, no sugar), and sipping at the steaming brew first.

 

“So, you’re not really a federal agent,” Ned starts.

 

“And you hang out in morgues when you’re not here,” Dean responds, and they both chuckle. Ned takes another sip and grimaces.

 

“Olive’s is so much better, I’m sorry.”

 

Dean’s not paying attention to the coffee and he sets his mug back in its saucer. “Ned?”

 

Ned puts his down and turns to fully face Dean. “Dean?” He looks a little nervous.

 

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

 

He holds his breath, waiting, praying Ned says yes.

 

“Yes. Yes, I would.”

 

Dean breaths out again and smiles brilliantly at the pie maker. They’re going on a date.


End file.
